A Way with Words
by thesewarmstars
Summary: TOP GEAR (UK) oneshot. Jeremy's mouth runs away with him at the pub, and now he must live with the consequences. J/J pre-slash.


Re-posting my topgearslash secret santa fic! Sorry for all the formatting errors in the original, anonymous posting. No idea what went on there!

 **Title:** A Way with Words.  
 **Gift for:** **borbonneat**  
 **Fandom:** Top Gear (UK).  
 **Pairing:** Jeremy Clarkson/James May.  
 **Rating:** PG-13.  
 **Warnings:** none.  
 **Word count:** 2540.  
 **Summary:** Jeremy's mouth runs away with him at the pub, and now he must live with the consequences.  
 **Disclaimer:** I'm making zero dollars off this story. Also, it is fiction and not meant to imply anything about any actual people.  
 **AN:** bourbonneat's prompts were 1: Jeremy and James being geeky together (like they were in communist cars, at the Beaulieu Motor Museum, or when they found the planes in Albania, etc…); 2: An accidental drunken revelation (Feelings for a co-presenter(s)? Coming out? Something unexpected or embarrassing from their past? Something else entirely?) and the aftermath. Can be as romantic, sexy, fluffy, and/or funny as you like; and 3: All attempts for a first time are thwarted (By challenges arising during filming? Too thin hotel room walls? Other people continuing to hang around past their welcome? You get the general idea.) until, finally, everything works out very well indeed.  
I ran with prompt #2, though I tried to incorporate a least a bit of the other two as well. I hope you like it!  
Big thanks to **wyvernchick** for the read-through.

Jeremy slumped over the pub table, clutching his empty pint glass to his chest with both hands like some sort of teddy bear. He grumbled under his breath and Richard leaned forward.

"Sorry mate, didn't catch that. Muffled a bit – by your speaking into your shirt, no doubt. Care to enunciate this time?"

"You're a pillock."

Richard grinned. "I am quite certain that's not what you said the first time. You've had too much to drink," he pointed out sagely.

"Nothing, it's nothing. I was commenting on the unlikelihood of your hair."

"The unli – how do you figure?" Richard waved a hand over his head. "There it is! It's just… there!" He pointed a finger and stabbed it accusingly toward Jeremy. "And your clumsy attempts at misdirection have failed!"

"I just said thanks, mate." Jeremy hunched farther into himself. "Thanks for jumping ship. Dunno what I'd have done if you and May weren't with me on this one. Don't think I'd make it without him." He cringed. "You! Both, obviously."

Richard gaped at him unbecomingly for an eternal moment before his features alit with sudden realization and he let out a guffaw.

"You need James May! You couldn't live without him, you old sap! This is, by far, the best thing I've heard all day," he exclaimed, throwing his arms out to demontrate just how many things this was better than. Then his eyes went round, focusing somewhere over Jeremy's head. "Oh, hello!"

James stepped into view, precariously balancing three glasses in just two hands. "Hello," he said, handing round the drinks. "Did you know, Hammond, that you are an incredibly loud individual? One normally doesn't notice, given the ear-splitting company you keep, but when he turns it down you positively ring out."

Jeremy glanced over to James, draining half his beer in one gulp. "You, er, heard that, did you?"

James smiled wryly. "Hard not to."

"Ah. Right." He furtively scanned over the nearby patrons, but none of them seemed any more interested in them than usual. He slapped his hands against his thighs and asked abruptly, "How did you convince your producer that a bloody Rolls Royce was a "car of the people"? That is not only amazing, it's daft, incorrect, and _stupid_."

jjjjjjjjjj

Jeremy waited for it, but it never came. He waited for the mocking, for the piss-taking, but none materialized. He waited for the punch, for the retreat to a more comfortable distance, for the awkwardness, but these were not forthcoming either.

He even – secretly, at night when it was dark and quiet, when he and James were unexpectedly left alone in a room, only in the furthest reaches of his mind – waited for a touch, for a look, for inept (or perhaps unexpectedly expert) flirting. These things were _certainly_ nowhere in sight.

He didn't know what was holding James back, or Richard for that matter. If either of them had made a drunken confession of the love which dare not speak its name, he would never let them forget it.

He held his breath when he and James were left alone during a break in a planning meeting, but James was all business as usual.

"It's completely daft. What good is a race between a hot air balloon and… well, anything! Dunno what the Hamster's thinking."

"Probably comtemplating how idyllic the countryside would look from his lofty perch," Jeremy answered on autopilot, still wary and confused.

James glanced around then leaned closer, and Jeremy's heartbeat went crazy. "Are you all right, Clarkson? You seem… I dunno, less cutting than usual."

Torn between relief and disappointment, Jeremy almost didn't register James' comment. "What? After years of you lot telling me to tone it down, I finally do and you complain about it?"

James just rolled his eyes as everyone else filed back into the room.

Then the next week, when he and James ended up sharing a hotel room, Jeremy thought he would have a stroke his blood pressure was so high. But James just spent a standard amount of time complaining about his lot in life, told Jeremy he had better not snore too loudly, and went to sleep.

Jeremy lay awake for hours, tossing, turning, and staring at James in the other bed. He was old and scruffy and snored something awful. Sleep did nothing to make him look younger or firmer or more feminine, or give any insight that could explain why Jeremy was so drawn to him.

No, that had more to do with his sense of humor and his enthusiasm and his lopsided smile, all things that were only evident when he was awake.

Christ, what was wrong with him?

jjjjjjjjjj

"Is that a Crusader?" Jeremy demanded, striding at once toward the imposing vehicle.

James shook his head. "No, it's a Covenanter."

"Yes, that's what I said." It was coming back to him now. "Covenanter, eighteen tonnes. Built by British Leyland."

"Which, of course, was simply Leyland Motors at the time."

Jeremy nodded. "Obviously." He swung an arm toward the nose of the tank. "Look at that gun. It's enormous!"

"A two-pounder, eh?" James mused.

"Yes, two-pounder, of course," Richard echoed, finally catching up to the other two.

"Ah, yes?" Jeremy asked with a grin. "What's this, then?" he added, gesturing at the secondary armament.

"That'd be… er, a gun. That is definitely a gun!" Richard answered, quite pleased with himself.

"A Besa," James murmered, reaching up toward it as if he could touch it if only he stretched hard enough. He was a good two feet shy.

Jeremy smiled, but Richard spun around with a huff. "You two are impossible! I'll be over here when you're done – in the shade, like a civilized person!"

"How many horse power, do you reckon?"

Jeremy searched his memory. "Three hundred and fifty? Three forty! Achieved a _massive_ 30 miles per hour. Could outrun a small dog!"

"Could certainly outrun you, you lout."

"Not if I was…" One half of James' mouth quirked up and Jeremy's retort died in his throat. James stepped closer.

"You know, I was about to comment on how you seemed to be back to… er, abnormal, but now you seem to have reverted."

James opened his mouth to add something, but Jeremy interrupted him. "Maybe not here?" he suggested, glancing meaningfully, though not at all subtly, at the various crew and museum staff going about their business.

James blinked, looking baffled. "Er, okay. Course, mate. Later then."

jjjjjjjjjj

"So, er, what are we talking about, exactly?" James asked, hands shoved into his pockets.

"You're the one who brought it up!" Jeremy accused, pacing in the car park. "I was ignoring it just fine, as one ought to do this sort of thing. Then you went and brought it up again!"

"I did no such thing!"

"You did! In front of Hammond, and the tank, and everyone!"

"How could I?" James demanded. "I've no bloody idea what you're talking about. Is this something to do with why you've been acting funny?"

"I haven't!"

"You know very well you have."

"Well I've done my best, at least. And anyway, I was pissed at the time and shouldn't be held accountable."

"You don't think you should be held accountable for anything, regardless of your drunkeness. And what are you bloody _talking_ about?"

"This has been your plan all along, hasn't it? I expected you to take the piss, but you've been holding back so you could make me repeat it! Well, good luck with your plan, because you'll not get me to admit my homosexualist tendencies twice!"

"I haven't got any plan! What are you on about, you… _What_?" James' eyes threatened to pop right out of his head. "What the bloody… Is this your idea of a joke?"

"It's bloody not, but obviously you think it is. Where do you get off, playing like nothing happened? I expected you to knock out m' front teeth when I said I loved you, but for _weeks_ you just go on like nothing happened!" Jeremy flailed, nearly smacking his hand into a column, but it didn't slow him down. "I can't take it any more, let's just have it out and – "

"I'm sorry, you _what_?"

"Sod it all, you were there! Don't pretend you've forgotten, because I know you didn't have that much to drink."

"Where was I? And _when_ was I there?"

"Down the pub, you spaniel-headed prat. On the… I dunno, 'round the beginning of last month. Everyone heard!"

Realization dawned in James' face. "You mean… no way. That was just… are you kidding? Please don't tell me that's your idea of a love confession! I thought you were just finally acknowledging I was your friend! Reluctantly!"

"You… What, really?"

"Yes, you idiot! And to think, people say you have a way with words."

"I do! You mean to tell me this whole time you didn't even…?"

"Yes."

"…And now I've gone and…?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Christ."

"Am I interrupting something, mates?" Richard asked cheerfully, and Jeremy and James both jerked with a start.

"Course not, gotta go," Jeremy muttered and dove for his Merc. Just as he was about to slam the door, James spoke.

"So you're going to drop by at half six with that DVD?"

Lies! He was telling blasphemous lies!

James did not wait for an answer – which may have been fortunate, as Jeremy's voice didn't seem to be working – but turned toward Richard. "Want to join? There may also be curry."

"What's the DVD?"

Jeremy felt a spark of hope.

"WWII documentary."

Which promptly died.

"Er, no, I actually have to… not watch that. But thanks anyway."

Jeremy sort of wished he would die, too.

jjjjjjjjjj

The drive to James' was excruciating. Jeremy couln't figure out why he was even going, except that it seemed he couldn't _not_.

At first, he tried to drive at James' usual pace so he wouldn't arrive too far ahead. After about twenty seconds, he gave up on that. Instead, he drove even faster than he normally would and took a quite circuitous route, which he told himself was due to the fact that he'd prefer to stop at that particular petrol station that had the poster of a mostly naked woman stuck in the window.

Nevermind the fact he didn't actually need petrol, and by the time he'd come up with that justification, he was already past the station.

Even so, when he pulled up outside the house, James wasn't there yet. He sat fidgeting for a couple of minutes, listening to various radio stations for three seconds each, and just when he had worked up the nerve to leave, James drove up in his BMW.

James went in the house and left the door open; Jeremy had been spotted.

Bracing both hands on the steering wheel, he took a deep breath. Finding that he couldn't prepare himself any further (short of donning a helmet), he followed James in. Closing the door, he braced himself against it.

"Go on, then," he told James, who was casually leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. He didn't think the suspense needed any more building.

"What, just like that?" James asked.

"I want to get it overwith," Jeremy answered, wondering whether James would yell, shut him down gently, or actually hit him. At this point, frankly, he was almost hoping for the latter.

He closed his eyes, as if that would somehow protect him. "Now, if you don't mind."

"Pushy," James accused, but Jeremy heard him moving. "No lead up, no discussion?"

Christ, he really was going to belt him.

"You sure that's how you want it?"

"Just do it!"

He felt the air move ahead of James' fist and… oh, what was…? That was unequivically _not_ anyone's fist. It was much too warm and damp and deliciously lovely, and despite a few probing attempts, had not knocked out any of his teeth.

Another moment and James gently pulled away. Slowly, Jeremy opened his eyes.

"What the devil did you do that for?"

James blinked. "You bloody told me to!"

"I thought you were going to punch me, not snog me!"

"Beginning to wish I'd done that instead."

"What, are you saying I can't kiss?" Jeremy asked indignantly.

"No, I just…"

"Because I'll have you know I am an _expert_ kisser!"

"Wait, really? How many blokes have you kissed, then?"

"Well, I… Just the one, I suppose."

"And what was this esteemed gentleman's opinion of your kissing?"

"Dunno, he's still blathering on."

James started. "I'm the only one?"

"What of it?" Jeremy asked defensively. "How many have you? Not like you're any more experienced at this than me."

James' jaw dropped open briefly. "You have got to be kidding."

"Why have I?"

"You only bring it up all the bloody time! You've been mocking me about it for fifteen sodding years, _and_ you just demanded I kiss you!"

"Well now, that wasn't really what I meant, you know."

"Clarkson, are you taking the piss? You can't possibly be that oblivious."

"I don't even know what you're on about anymore!"

James sighed. "To answer your original question, I've kissed… about ten or twelve blokes, I'd say. Roughly."

"Ten or… _what_?!"

"What, does that seem high? I didn't sleep with _all_ of them."

"You didn't… _what_?!"

"Well, I don't want you to have the impression I'm some sort of man-slut or something."

Jeremy shook his head, but it didn't help. "This is like some sort of parallel universe, isn't it?"

James squinted at Jeremy, his piano, the couch. "Don't think so. Hard to say, though."

"Are you telling me you're actually a homosexualist?"

"I really can't believe you didn't know. Thought you'd finally noticed my looking at you. Why did you come onto me, then?"

"I didn't!"

"All right, professed your undying love, then."

"I di – well, I… it wasn't on purpose!"

James grinned. "So you were just going to suffer in silence forever?"

"I… Well, yes."

"That's very unlike you."

"This whole bloody situation is very unlike me."

"Everything all cocked up? Not really."

"S'pose not."

They stood in silence for a long moment, and Jeremy stuffed his hands in his pockets. What were they supposed to do now?

"What are we supposed to do now?" he demanded.

"Dunno," James answered. "Depends on you, I suppose."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one – "

"Wait, did you say you'd been looking at me?" Jeremy interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at James.

James looked away. "May have."

"Do _not_ equivocate on me now, May."

"Fine, I watched you. How could I bloody not?!"

"What d'you mean?"

"I _mean_ , you berk, that your feelings…may not be…unreciprocated."

Jeremy gaped. "You're in love with me!" he accused.

James scowled. "So sorry."

"And you never told me!"

"I have, just now! And it wasn't even an accident."

"Feeling smug about that, are you? Well, mine was still first."

"Fine, you said it first. But I kissed you first!"

Jeremy stepped closer. "Well, mine may be second, but it will, obviously, be better! I mean, how hard can it be?"

James grinned, looking quite pleased with himself, and moved to meet Jeremy halfway. "Prove it."

And Jeremy did.

Well, he tried very hard, at least.


End file.
